Classic Poem

To life's worst labyrinth there is a clew,
A thread of silk that leads the traveler
Through losses, crosses, sicknesses, and deaths,
And gives him entrance to the central place;
'Tis Hope , the anchor of the soul,—'tis Hope ,
Steadfast and sure, a very gift of Heaven;
How could our Temple ever be complete,
So great the work, so feeble we who build,
But for this aid? the six days work so long,
The summer's heat so strong, the toil so great!